Silence

[Aardvark]

The lights brightened a little, then died suddenly. Along with every light outside. The small apartment was plunged into gloom. The sole occupant sighed. He'd resigned himself to this eventuating. He opened a draw in the desk next to him and withdrew a chemical glowstick. Cracking the old-fashioned device, a viridescent glow bathed the room. He went to the window. Darkness outside, with the exception of the distant glow of a fire. He'd expected as much. It was the last thing anyone expected, but the thing they feared the most.

 

On this planet, the planet humanity spawned from, he was among a handful of human beings who were pure. 100% flesh and blood. Most other people had at least a few implants. Most people didn't make it through childhood without a couple. What parent could resist giving their pride and joy a membooster before starting school or an enhanced logic processor to help with those nasty finals. They come with a lifetime guarantee and every other kid has one. Then there were cybernetic replacement limbs and organs. Natural ones could be cultured to suit the subject perfectly, but they took time and were expensive as hell. A robotic arm could be sprayed near-perfect and be a boon to the unfortunate amputee at a fraction of the cost of a flesh arm. Having never lost a limb, he'd never had to make the choice, but he knew few who were ever in a position to refuse a cybernetic replacement.

 

He kitted up, the way he'd trained himself to do at least once a week for the past four years. In almost total darkness, he knew where every single tool he'd need was. He knew how to calibrate them, run necessary diagnostics on the more advanced and ensure the most simple of them were loaded, just in case.

 

Most people were walking computers, these days. Between the schoolage education boosters and useful personal organiser chips, there was everything from enhanced retinas, muscular boosters, immuno-plus packs and the ever-popular Girl's Best Friend implants... for the guys. Every biological function had a bionic implant available to enhance, improve or just plain take over the function. Even things nature hadn't provided for, mankind had developed something. Corporate execs, meeting eachother for the first time, with just a simple handshake, would know every last scrap of detail their opposite number wanted them to know, complete with every last scrap of detail their corporation had compiled on them. People were linked to vast information nodes, which were in turn linked to other nodes and other people. With a thought, two people from different continents could link up and share ideas. As long as they could think in the same language.

 

Which was no longer a problem, he remembered. He feared for those unfortunate few who had invested in the Babel implant now. He ran a mental check. Surgical kit, pliers, wire cutters, screwdrivers, knife, club, tazer, diagnostic tool, implant-deactivator, neural inhibitor and Colt .45. He didn't know what to expect out there, but every electric device in the city had just been turned into expensive paperweights. Most of these objects resided within people. And most of these people wouldn't remember life without them.

 

Which was where he came in. He was a Silence Councilor. In a world where people have electronic thoughts to remind them of important events, read them the news and tell their horoscope, there needs to be people who live without them. People who, in the event of an emergency, can function in silence and help others recover from it. He was in demand a lot, even before today. EMP weapons were used by police all the time. What better way to apprehend a criminal than to shut off the device controlling his legs. Or enhancing his breathing. Or telling him exactly where he's going. And there were always accidents. The world of tomorrow still relies on AC current and electronics are still as frail as ever. Just now, they're linked to nerves.

 

With more and more radical groups emerging, it was only a matter of time before this happened. Groups who claimed God was on their side and who wanted an end to the abomination that was implants. Who's membership comprised of your standard John Q Implantpatient who accessed the same nodes as everyone else, but argued that he should've had the choice. Who were probably regretting whatever small part they played in the procurement of an EMP bomb large enough to knock out the city.

 

And knock out the city it would. Everything. The lights, the signs, the cars, even the people. Everything. The power wouldn't remain off for that long, the lights could be fixed, the cars repaired. The people, on the other hand...

 

He threw on a coat and slipped on his glasses. The HUD appeared in his field of vision as soon as they touched skin. He'd learned early on the best way to live implant free. There were always ways. There are always people who didn't want their eyes touched. Even after their skeleton had been hardened, their muscles enhanced, their blood changed to an oxygenated nutrient liquid and all their internal organs replaced with superior cybernetic models. The glasses hooked up to a CPU on his belt. Using the water content of his body as the medium, all his devices and gadgets were able to communicate, as long as he was touching them. Going glove free in the middle of winter was a small sacrifice, he kept telling himself.

 

He opened the door of his apartment to the sound of crying, wailing, groaning in pain. Too many people, he knew. But protocol clearly stated, women and children first. Well, children first. Age preference. Sedate, deactivate, rehabilitate. Barely enough for most people. But all he could offer. He stepped over the body of a service droid and out to his neighbour, fixing his earpiece as he went. Shielded as his apartment was, it would all be working fine, as soon as the networks were up and running again. Then he would be called to where he was most needed. But for now...

 

Before the door had hit the floor, he knew what to expect. He knew his neighbours too well. He knew the children had brain implants. They were both unconscious, the lucky devils. The wife was weeping over the body of her husband. He knew she couldn't hear him as he entered and got to work on her children. The husband... he was beyond help. His lungs, heart, liver, spinal column.... the list was near endless. All junk. But all necessary for his survival. And his backup biogenerator was in much worse state than him.

 

Hours later, the building was finished. The situation repeated wherever he went. Seven casualties. Four criticals, unlikely to survive. The rest would recover in time. Most were sedated. He thought it better than them going deaf from silence.

 

The lights had repaired themselves and were illuminating the streets. The parking bay under the building was shielded from the effects of old fashioned fission bombs. A paranoid architect was to thank for that. The next task was to rehabilitate the emergency response teams. Scattered and unprepared as they were. As he got in his car, he wondered what the zealots who had planned this whole thing were thinking right now. Then he remembered, most of them probably didn't make it out of childhood without a membooster. They weren't thinking much, right now.